


Look At That

by lavender_and_roses



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27107905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_and_roses/pseuds/lavender_and_roses
Summary: Paul and Art reunite after the summer and look ahead to high school. Lots of fluff.
Relationships: Art Garfunkel/Paul Simon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Look At That

Art played with the curls on the back of his head as he looked over the menu at the soda fountain. He just couldn’t decide. Root beer float? Egg creme? Ice cream soda? He turned to his older brother Jules.

“What are you having?” he asked.

“Nothing. I’m saving my quarters. College, you know,” said Jules, without looking up from the magazine he was perusing. Then with a slightly condescending tone, he added, “But if you want to spend yours, go ahead.”

Art frowned. College. Between that and girls, that’s all his big brother seemed to think about these days. Well, Art was determined to spend his coins. After a little thought, he narrowed his choice down to an ice cream soda. But what flavor? Cherry? Coke? Cherry Coke? The man behind the counter seemed to be losing his patience as he waited for Art to make his order.

“Could ya make up your mind, Artie?” a familiar voice teased from behind. “Other people want sodas, too!” 

Art rapidly spun around. “Paul! You’re back!” he exclaimed loudly--perhaps a little too loudly.

Paul beamed, delighted to see that his best friend had missed him while he’d been gone. He put his arm on Art’s shoulder right where it belonged, and they looked at the menu together. “I got this,” Paul said. Art stepped back and let him do his thing.

“Alright, this fella here would like a cherry ice cream soda, and I’d like a Coke ice cream soda, please,” Paul said to the soda fountain attendant. Art smiled and blushed a little. Paul knew him so well. And it felt good to feel that arm on his shoulder again, even if Paul had to stand on his tiptoes to do it. 

“Sure thing,” the attendant said before setting to work on the sodas. 

Paul turned to his friend, expecting a warm welcome. Instead, Art punched him square in the shoulder.

“You were only supposed to be at camp until the 14th!” he said with a scowl that barely concealed a smile. “Where have you been?”

Paul smiled sheepishly and rubbed his arm, even though Art hadn’t hit him very hard. “I thought Eddie told you,” Paul said. “My folks picked me up at camp and surprised me. We went to visit my cousins for a week!” Art shook his head. Eddie had definitely not filled him in on that information.

“Figures,” Paul said with a roll of his eyes. “I should’ve written you.” 

Jules lowered his magazine and awkwardly cleared his throat before speaking up. “Ah, I’m sorry, Artie,” he said. “Paulie’s little brother asked me to tell you he’d be gone another week, and I forgot to let you know.” 

Art sighed loudly. “Aw, Jules! Are you kidding me?” he growled in irritation. His reaction was so melodramatic that his brother couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “I really am sorry,” Jules repeated. “I didn’t realize you were so lost without Paul here.”

Paul held back a giggle and Art’s cheeks burned. “Not lost, but definitely bored,” he said.

“Well, even Dad admitted it was too quiet without you two singing in the basement,” Jules said. “Nothing but quiet for four weeks. I almost forgot the words to _Maybellene_!” Both Art and Paul had to smirk at that.

“Order up!” said the soda attendant. The boys handed over their quarters and mumbled a thank you before grabbing their sodas. They found a small table for them all to sit at. 

“Here’s the deal,” Paul said to Art as they sat down. “You drink your soda down a few inches, I'll do the same and then we’ll trade. That way, we each get to have both flavors. And then when there’s a few inches left in both glasses, we’ll combine them and we’ll both have cherry Coke.”

Art wondered if Paul had the ability to read his mind. The mere thought of that made him shudder, but he quickly brushed it off. “Deal,” he responded before he slipped the straw into his mouth. As he studied Paul from across the table, he wondered if he really had been lost without him. Maybe, he thought. It depended on what “lost” actually meant.

After a few sips of soda, they began to catch up. “So what did you do at your cousins’?” Art asked.

Paul’s eyes flashed with mischief. “Aw shit, it was so much fun!” he responded with a grin. “They live out in the country, you know. We got into loads of trouble!” 

“What kind of trouble?” Art asked as he idly played with his straw. He wondered what kind of trouble they could possibly have gotten into out in the middle of nowhere. But then Paul leaned over the table with a conniving grin, and Art knew he had a good story to share. Even Jules put his magazine down and sat back to listen.

“OK, so get this--the second night we were there, we thought it’d be fun to go _skinny dipping_ ,” Paul said. 

Art’s eyebrows shot straight up. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “Skinny dipping?! For real?” he asked. 

“For real!” Paul replied. “Me, Eddie and our three cousins snuck out the window and went down to the lake in the middle of the night.” 

Paul paused, and both boys noticed that their sodas were about a third gone. Without a word, they traded glasses. Paul took a long sip before continuing his story.

“See, my cousins were trying to see who’d dare to go the farthest from shore. Well, you know me--no messing around--I swam right to the middle of the fucking lake!” Paul boasted with a big laugh. “It was dark and spooky out there--wasn't nobody gonna beat me!” 

“I swear, Paul,” Art said, with a smile and shake of his head, “Sometimes I think you’re not scared of anything.”

“Well, between us, I was a little scared that a fish might decide to nibble on me,” Paul joked. “Remember...skinny dipping? No shorts!”

Art definitely hadn’t forgotten that part, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t trust himself to respond, especially when just his wicked smile threatened to give him away. Luckily, Paul didn’t seem to notice and continued with his story.

“Anyway, Eddie was too chicken to go way out in the deep, so he waded along shore in the mud instead. Wouldn’t you know...he got stuck? My cousins and I had to throw him a rope to pull him out,” Paul quipped. “After all that, we were so beat we could hardly get into our PJs, climb through the window and crawl back into our beds.”

Paul’s eyes twinkled then, and he let out a quick chuckle before he continued. “So you know what leeches are, right? Those black blood-sucking worms?” Paul said, lowering his voice. “Get this--somehow Eddie dried off, put his pajamas on, snuck back into the house and went to sleep without noticing he had six or seven of ‘em stuck to his legs!” 

“Yuck!” Art said. “How could he not notice that?” Paul smiled and shrugged. “It’s Eddie,” he said, as if that was explanation enough. 

“So in the morning, Eddie threw back the covers and saw those nasty things stuck to his legs. You’d think he’d scream or something, but no...not Eddie. He shouts ‘OH, FUCK!’ so loud that the whole house heard it!”

Paul was laughing at his own story now, gasping for breath and clutching his belly. His laugh was contagious, and both Art and Jules found themselves laughing, too. 

“So Dad came running in and saw the leeches on Eddie’s legs,” Paul said, wiping tears from his eyes. “He looked around at the rest of us and somehow, I’m telling you I have no idea how he did, but he just _knew_ what we’d been up to. And he was furious!”

“Oh shit, what’d he do?” asked Art. 

“Well, he smacked Eddie hard on the ass for cussing, then sent him out to Mom to get the leeches off. Then he turned to the rest of us and said, ‘Sneaking out for a nighttime swim, huh? Sure hope you had a good time, ‘cause you’re not gonna have any fun today. You boys are gonna work.’” 

Paul’s impression of his dad was so dead-on that it nearly sent a shudder up Art’s spine. He’d been in trouble with Mr. Simon before and was well familiar with that voice. 

“So, we got in trouble after all, but it was worth it,” Paul continued. “We spent a whole day cleaning out Aunt Beth’s vegetable garden, but it wasn’t actually too bad. My cousin put a rotten tomato down Eddie’s pants in revenge for him outing us. I laughed so hard, Eddie didn't speak to me the rest of the day.” 

“How the hell did your dad figure it out so fast?” Jules asked Paul. 

Paul smiled and shrugged. “Maybe he did some skinny dipping as a kid too?” he said. His laughter had run out, but his eyes still twinkled with moisture and mirth. 

“OK! Cherry Coke time!” he suddenly declared, grabbing Art’s glass and mixing the two sodas together. He poured half of the mixture back into Art’s glass and pushed it back across the table before Art even knew what was happening.

“Mmmm, yum,” Paul said, tasting the mixture. 

Art took a sip and had to agree. Cherry Coke was the best flavor. But most of all, he was happy to hear his friend’s laughter again.

“That all sounds like fun,” Art said. “Even the part where you had to work.” 

“Yeah!” Paul said enthusiastically, “And camp was even better! We slept in tents the first few days while, get this, we assembled our own cabin. And then there was so much to do! We learned archery, canoed across a huge lake and one day we even made our own ice cream. We all ate way too much and got sick!”

Paul laughed out loud at the memory. Art chuckled, but it was hard for him to smile. His brother observed his darkened mood and squeezed his shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s OK,” he said to Art. “You’ll get to go next year.”

Paul’s smile faded and his face turned red as he remembered that his friend hadn’t been able to go to camp this year.

“Fucking lung infection,” Art said under his breath. “No running, no swimming, no having fun. Longest summer ever.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to go to camp,” Paul said, genuinely feeling bad about talking how much fun he’d had while his friend missed out. “Your doctor says you’re better now, right?”

“Yeah,” replied Art, as he slumped down in his chair. “Just in time for summer to be over.”

“Hey,” his brother said with an encouraging tone, ”You should tell Paul what you did while he was gone!”

Art reluctantly allowed a smile to appear on his face. He sat back up and rested his forearms on the table.

“What’d you do, Artie?” asked Paul. 

“Ah, well, that first day you were gone, I was messing around and found an old basketball in the closet,” Art said. “So I aired it up and went over to PS 164 to shoot free throws.”

His brother nudged him with a laugh. “You didn’t _just_ shoot free throws,” he said. 

“Hey... my story, remember?” Art shot teasingly at Jules. He turned back to Paul and continued, “I ended up shooting free throws the whole time you were gone! And you know what? I actually got pretty good at making them, so I decided to see how many I could make in a row.” 

“So how many did you make?” asked Paul, his curiosity piqued. Basketball wasn’t his sport, but he made his best guess. “Thirty? Forty?”

Jules and Art snickered at Paul’s guess. 

“One hundred and two,” Art replied.

Paul was stunned speechless. Art rarely saw Paul dumbfounded like this, and he found it quite amusing.

“ _Really_?” asked Paul, after he found his voice back. Art nodded and sat back, proudly crossing his arms. Paul looked at Jules, who nodded, wordlessly backing up Art’s claim. 

“Well, I'll be damned…” said Paul. Art watched his friend's face carefully. Knowing how competitive Paul was, he was probably wondering where to get his hands on a basketball. Just then, the door jingled and a pretty young woman walked into the soda fountain.

“You guys!” said Jules, suddenly sitting up straight and smoothing out his hair. “It’s Nancy!”

The boys turned to look, and Jules whisper-shouted at them. “Don’t look! Jeez!” At this, Art and Paul shared a mischievous look, which only put Jules even more on edge. 

“Hey listen, I’m going to buy Nancy a soda…” Jules said.

“I thought you were saving your quarters for college?” Art teased. 

“Shhhhhh!” hissed Jules. “Now listen, I’ll buy you both sodas next Saturday if you make yourselves scarce now.” 

Art and Paul smirked at each other. They both knew they were getting a sweet deal. “You got it,” Art said as they got up and left the table. He smacked Jules on the back and added, “Don’t forget! Next Saturday!” 

Jules waved them away before approaching Nancy with all the charm he could muster. The boys laughed and shook their heads at him, then retreated to the back of the shop. They escaped out the back door and into the bright late afternoon sun. 

“So...Nancy?” Paul asked Art, once they had reached the alley. “Isn’t that Lizzy’s older sister?”

“Yeah, can you believe it? This isn’t the first time he’s talked with her,” Art replied. “He’s pretty sweet on her, I guess.”

He snuck a glance at Paul and loosened his collar before adding, “And get this. He said Nancy told him Lizzy _likes me_.” 

At that, Paul’s face fell into a frown. Paul often frowned, and Art rarely understood why. He made a mental note to himself to keep track of Paul’s frowns sometime. But not today. Today was for catching up, he reminded himself as they made their way to the sidewalk and followed it toward nowhere in particular. The two of them often explored their neighborhood on foot, chatting and bullshitting with each other along the way.

“So does Jules know what he’s going to do after graduation?” Paul asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“Yeah, college,” replied Art. “Actually, tomorrow he’s going with my parents on a campus visit somewhere upstate. I’m just glad they aren’t dragging me along.”

“Huh,” Paul mused as he bent to pick up a branch. “That’ll be weird...your brother going to college.” Paul smoothed the bark off the top of the stick, then held it proudly like a staff. He always felt more comfortable with something in his hand. Usually, it was the neck of a guitar, but he also liked to make impromptu walking sticks while they made their way across the landscape. 

“You know what’s even weirder?” Art replied with a bit of a tremble in his voice. “That’s going to be us in a few years.” 

Paul threw his head back and let out an overdramatic groan. “Oh man, don’t say that!” 

“It’s true,” countered Art, a little too matter-of-factly. “We skipped a grade. We’re sophomores starting Monday, remember?” 

Paul’s feet slowed to a stop, and he squinted thoughtfully at the sun. “You know what? Skipping a grade sounded like a good idea a few years ago, but now...I don’t know. High school’s gonna go by fast.”

“Yeah, for better or worse,” agreed Art. He paused and waited for Paul to catch up. Art noticed that today, Paul’s feet seemed to drag more than usual.

The two of them normally kept their talks light while they walked, but Art had spent quite a bit of time thinking while Paul was gone and some heavy questions weighed on his mind. And now he felt that he needed to ask some of the more pressing ones. Maybe he was a coward, but it seemed easier to talk about the tough stuff while walking down a sidewalk, than it did sitting at a table or confined to one of their rooms.

“Paul,” Art asked, trying to hide the slight quiver in his voice. “What will you do after high school?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Art could see Paul’s eyes narrow and his face turn grim. They’d never talked about this before. Neither had wanted to. Until now, the fork in the road ahead of them had seemed so far away. But graduation was within sight now, and Art wanted to know what path Paul intended to follow. 

Paul, on the other hand, preferred to remain in denial about the future. Deep down, he might have admitted that he saw they were headed in different directions. He might have even admitted that he couldn’t face that truth. But he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about it with Art on such a pleasant afternoon.

Paul paused a moment to overturn a rock with his walking stick. “I don’t know,” he finally said. He let that answer hang in the air for a moment, and Art thought that might be all he got out of him before he continued. 

“My dad wants me to be a lawyer or something professional. College, I guess. I don’t like talking about it.”

“I can tell,” said Art.

Paul reluctantly returned the question. “What about you?” 

“I’m kicking around some ideas,” replied Art thoughtfully. “While you were gone, I read a book about an architect. That was interesting. I think I could handle architecture school.”

Art’s answer was quirky enough to make Paul smile. “Architecture. Hmm. Creative, yet precise,” Paul said with a smirk. “Yeah, that sounds like you.” 

Art laughed before shooting back. “Yeah. And you’d make a good lawyer. I've never known anyone who liked to argue as much as you.”

Paul laughed softly, but his laughter quickly gave way to a sigh. It was one thing to talk about the future. It was another to talk about actually becoming a fucking lawyer.

“That’s what my Dad wants, not me,” he grumbled. “ _I_ want to make music, but Dad keeps saying he wants me to do better. Or at least better than he did. He doesn’t think much of being a musician.”

Art bit his lip and wondered how to respond. He used up some nervous energy by kicking at the grass along the sidewalk. “I can’t believe I agree with your dad, but I do,” he finally admitted. Art had always been at odds in some way with Paul’s father, except, apparently, on this point. “Dreams are nice and making music is fun, but it’s no career. I mean, why do you think I always say we’ve got to finish our homework before we sing?”

Paul huffed disapprovingly. Art knew what he meant. “I know, I know,” he said. 

“Well, it doesn't matter, because I'll probably end up playing ball anyway,” Paul said with all the confidence in the world. Art smiled to himself. His friend had always been sure that he had what it took to play pro baseball, and more or less assumed that one day the Yankees would come knocking at his door, begging him to come win the pennant for them. Art never tried to convince him otherwise. That was one dream he wasn’t going to squash.

They kept walking, and Art dared to pull another question from his mental list of tough topics. This time, he dug deep.

“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked. “And you said we were always meant to be friends?”

Paul appeared pained. “Yes,” he answered with a hint of hesitation. 

Art took a deep breath and continued. “When you said that, did you mean that we were meant to be friends for...always? For forever?”

Paul blinked rapidly while he thought it over. After what felt like several minutes, at least to Art, Paul finally had an answer.

“Ah, I don’t know,” he said, with a hint of melancholy in his voice. “I’m sure that somehow we’ll always be a part of each others’ lives.” He laughed softly then added, “...whether we want to be or not.”

This was not the answer Art expected. “I see,” he replied as he walked on, staring straight ahead. 

Art could feel Paul's eyes on him, causing his spine to stiffen and tingle. He wondered where Paul got these feelings and ideas from, and how he could be so confident about them. And he wondered why they made his friend so unbearably pessimistic.

Paul honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it if Art had asked, however. To him, the future was like a vague, distant memory--a memory of something that hadn’t happened yet. Somehow he just _knew_. He didn’t consider himself clairvoyant--but rather deeply intuitive. He knew that the future held beauty, but also sorrow. This knowledge, he assumed, was what made his eyes appear so deeply dark and sad to anyone who looked into them.

“Maybe I’ll hire you as my lawyer,” Art teased, hoping to relieve the tension. Paul did not find it funny. 

“Just take care that none of your buildings fall down, OK?” he shot back.

Paul resented Art for making him think about the future, much less talk about it. He couldn’t tell him why he was sure that life after high school would fall short of his expectations, or at least his hopes. He couldn’t tell him what he really wanted. He couldn’t tell him what he really felt. Shit, he couldn’t even tell him how much he’d missed him while he’d been away. 

Paul had missed Art so much that one night halfway through camp, he cried--no, sobbed--until he threw up. While cleaning up the mess, he told his counselor that the ice cream they’d made that day must have made him sick. And he’d been crushed when his parents picked him up and told him they weren’t going home for another week. That first night at his cousins’, he snuck out to the lake in the dark and played his guitar, trying his best to harmonize with his own echo. It didn’t work. Paul woke up on the dock at 4:30 the next morning when a fisherman across the lake got an early start on the day and fired up his loud boat engine. 

Paul couldn’t tell his closest friend any of that, and it left him feeling emotionally exhausted. As they walked on, he wondered if Art would let it go. He didn’t.

“I just can’t help but wonder what it'll be like to be an adult,” Art mused. He playfully hopped up onto a low block wall and walked along it like it was a balance beam. “Will I meet someone and fall in love? Will I have a good job? A family? Will I own my own house? Or, will I _design_ my own house? Will your kids call me ‘Uncle Artie?’”

Art had really expected Paul to laugh at that. Instead, Paul exhaled loudly through his nose. A certain hopelessness and cynicism expressed itself in the sound, as if everything that Paul couldn’t say to Art came out in a single blast of breath. The noise made Art stop abruptly, hop off the wall and whirl back toward Paul. 

“What?” he asked Paul. “Don’t you want any of those things?”

Paul stared back at him and Art thought his eyes seemed even darker than usual. In a low voice loaded with sarcasm and bitterness, Paul replied, “No, it’s all _great_. That all sounds _perfect_. I’m sure you’ll meet a girl, get married and get _everything_ you hope for.”

Art clenched his teeth, turned and resumed walking. Few things irritated him more than when Paul used his sarcasm to cut him down. What was it about talking about the future that bothered him so much? Why did he change the subject when Lizzy was mentioned? Art had tried to make Paul laugh, but he’d failed. Now he decided to slash back.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll marry a girl like Lizzy.”

Art heard Paul’s footsteps falter, and he knew that he had landed his blow. Did Paul fancy Lizzy? He suddenly felt a little bad.

They continued walking in silence, with the park becoming a natural destination. Paul’s dreariness was palpable and followed them as they went. Their stroll brought them past the park sign, over toward the marshy area and through a clearing. They crossed a road that allowed cars to cut through the park, and then Paul spotted something interesting. A welcome distraction.

“Hey, look at this!” he exclaimed as he walked toward a large concrete pipe sticking out of the ground. Paul’s gloom lifted, at least for the time being, as he parted the long grass and made his way to the odd feature. Art doubled back on the path and followed. He was curious, knowing that you might never know what you’d come across in a park in Queens.

“Has this always been here?” Paul asked as he knelt and looked down into the pipe. It was about three feet wide, went straight down into the ground and appeared bottomless.

“Oh, yeah,” Art replied. He knew this park and its quirky features, almost better than anyone. “It’s always been capped, but I walked through here one day last week and noticed someone busted up the boards. They haven’t fixed it yet.”

“What do you suppose it’s for?” asked Paul. Art could tell his friend’s imagination was running wild, but Art was more pragmatic. “It probably served as some kind of drainage for Meadow Lake at one point, or maybe it’s used to regulate water levels. None of this landscape is natural, you know. It’s all man-made, even the lakes.”

“Drainage,” said Paul with a hint of dejection. “Figures. I was hoping it was a mafia escape tunnel, or maybe a secret underground nuclear bunker.” 

Art approached the pipe and peered down into it. “I don’t think anyone would want to go down there, even if a bomb was dropping. It looks like a 60 plus foot drop into who-knows-what...sewage? Marsh mud? Industrial waste?”

“You’re no fun,” Paul told Art. He’d been relishing the chance to shake off the adult talk and be a playful, curious boy for a little while longer. Art shrugged. He wasn’t playing along.

“Dad once told me that before they redid the landscape for the World’s Fair in the 30s, this area was a dump for waste and ash from factories,” he explained. Paul wrinkled his nose. “Gross,” he said. Art had to agree.

Paul looked down the pipe once more before he announced, “Alright, I’m gonna throw a rock down there!” He reached for a good-sized rock and hoisted it up, ready to throw it into the abyss, when Art suddenly uttered, “Wait!”

Paul froze. He looked at Art. “What?”

Art knelt next to Paul and smiled as if he felt sorry for his poor, clueless friend. “You have to make a wish first,” he said gently, but with authority. Paul had to stifle a laugh. His companion was certainly unique. Art had gone from being unrelentingly practical one second to unapologetically whimsical the next. Paul marvelled at his ability to do this. 

“OK,” Paul said. He closed his eyes for a few moments and then opened them again. He looked to Art. “I made a wish. May I throw it now?”

Art nodded, so Paul lifted the rock again and let it drop into the pipe. Both boys waited breathlessly, waiting to hear a splash, a thud or something. After a few moments, they stood and stepped back, both surprised that neither had heard anything. 

“Weird,” said Paul. Art nodded in agreement. Both of them tentatively peered down into the darkness once more. It made them shudder a little. 

“Why don’t _you_ make a wish and throw a rock?” Paul suggested. 

“No thank you,” Art said quietly.

“Don’t you have a wish you want to make?” Paul asked, looking up at Art with a sly smile. 

Art shrugged and smiled back. “How do you know my wish wouldn’t be the same as yours?”

At this, Paul laughed heartily. “I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be,” he said. Art laughed too. Paul was probably right on that.

They walked away from the pipe and continued their trek through the park. The light was getting dim and Paul noticed the hill ahead of them was now surrounded by a halo of pink. “Looks like it’s getting late,” he said. “Let’s go up the hill to see the sunset.”

Art approved of this idea and nodded his agreement. He always had time to look at a sunset. He led the way up the slope. “Hey, I know it sounds dumb, but I really do hope your wish comes true,” he told Paul as they hiked upward. Paul knew he genuinely meant it, which only made it all the more sadder. “It’s not likely to,” he replied. “But thanks, anyway.” 

“Hey, c’mon...anything could happen,” Art offered encouragingly. Paul just shook his head, leaving Art to wonder what he might have wished for as they both approached the top of the hill. 

When they arrived at the top, the two boys were rewarded with a view of a truly magnificent sunset on the horizon. It mirrored itself in the glass-smooth lake below, making it doubly spectacular. Color washed over everything the sunlight touched. Even the air seemed to be tinted orange.

“Wow,” said Art, quietly and in awe. “Look at that.”

Maybe Paul was just tired, or maybe the beauty of it all hit him just right, but he found himself deeply moved by the sight. He quickly brushed a few tears away from his cheeks before Art could notice. A normal 14-year-old boy wouldn’t cry over sunsets, he told himself. A normal boy wouldn’t be affected by the beauty of things… or people... around him. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just be normal. 

Art sat down on the slope without a word, still admiring the sunset. Paul sat down too, albeit a few feet away from Art and slightly higher up the slope. This, Art did notice. Paul always did subtle things like that to make their height difference less noticeable. Art wondered if he did it on purpose, or if it was purely an unconscious instinct. 

But Paul wasn’t thinking about height at that moment, nor was he sizing himself up against Art in any other way. Instead, he had lost himself in his imagination. The colored light of the sunset made Art’s hair glow even brighter than usual, and it reminded Paul of an evening at camp when he’d admired a mountain sunset. Out there in the wilderness, he had watched as an eagle swooped and glided through fiery golden clouds that curled delicately up into the sky. Tonight, a small insect buzzed around Art’s curls and the visual was so similar, that it nearly made Paul laugh out loud.

“I’m really glad you’re back,” Art suddenly said, turning toward Paul and bringing his daydream to a halt. Paul quickly averted his eyes and wondered if his friend had caught him staring. He played with the laces of his shoes and didn’t answer right away.

“Yeah, I am, too,” he said quietly. He leaned back on his arms and looked up at the sky. The temptation to say more crept into Paul’s head. Sometimes, especially these days, Paul wondered if he could somehow express to Art how conflicted he felt without revealing the whole truth. He couldn’t decide if the small amount of relief and understanding he’d gain was worth the risk.

At the same time, Art was beginning to feel defeated. He had tried to talk to Paul, to make him laugh. He had even tried to make him mad. He was used to coming up against one of his friend’s many emotional walls, but today Paul seemed so distant that he wasn’t sure he could reach him. Art just couldn’t understand. He’d just wanted to talk about their future, not challenge their friendship or dig up any issues. He never meant any harm.

“You know what the best part was about being out in the country?” Paul asked, interrupting Art’s thoughts. 

“What?” Art asked reluctantly. As badly as he wanted to know what was bothering his friend, he wasn’t sure he could stomach more talk about what a great time Paul had while he was gone.

“After the sun went down, you could see so many stars,” Paul said wistfully as he gazed upward. “Not like here.”

Art considered this. “Ah, yeah, I suppose you could,” he mused. “We’re too close to the city here. It doesn’t get dark enough. The light from the streets and buildings drown out most of the stars.” 

Paul continued to stare at the sky, and his thoughts seemed just as far away. Nonetheless, he continued to talk. “It sounds strange,” he said, almost whispering. “But when I saw all those stars in the sky, I’d feel less...I don’t know, alone.”

Art turned once again to look at Paul, not sure what to make of this comment. He didn’t know what to say. Paul felt alone? The sun was getting very low in the sky now.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Paul continued. “That something billions of light years away could make me feel that way? When I can sit up here and look out over a whole city of people surrounding me, and feel more alone than ever?”

A lump rose in Art’s throat. What did this mean? Didn’t his presence count? And what about him? _He’d_ been the one left behind for four weeks. If anyone had a right to feel alone, it was him. Either way, they were back together now. Didn’t that matter?

“But Paul,” Art offered calmly. “You’re not alone.”

Paul’s response was swift. He continued to look at the sky, his gaze unwavered. “I never said I was,” he said. “I just said I _felt_ alone.” 

Art turned away from Paul in frustration. Wrinkles creased his brow, as he tried to understand what Paul was saying. He tried and failed.

“But why?” Art had to ask. “Why do you feel that way?”

Paul stared off into the distance as he tried to determine how to respond. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew full well how frustrated he’d made his best friend. He had been away too long. Now that he was back, his general disquiet had insisted on making itself heard...and it had fucked things up. 

“Never mind. It’s hard to explain. Forget I brought it up,” Paul responded.

Art turned to him then, his eyes piercing Paul like arrows. Paul shrunk under their intensity. His response had clearly backfired.

“OK, fine,” Paul said. “Sometimes I… sometimes I feel like I’m just as invisible as those stars up there,” he said sadly, looking up once more to the sky. 

Art raised an eyebrow skeptically, then looked up too. After a moment, he let out a low gasp.

“Oh! You were right! Other than the moon and that airplane over there, the sky is just… empty.” Art shifted uncomfortably, then added, “I guess I just always assumed there were stars above Queens and never actually looked.”

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Paul asked.

“Yeah. It is,” Art replied.

“What if people are like that?” Paul continued. “What if people are just trying to be themselves… they’re shining away as best they know how, but they’ll never _really_ see each other because of all the neon of the city? What if people are saying important, meaningful things, but others only hear them--they never _really_ listen? What if… what if someone shines for another, but the night is so bright that their love simply fades into that starless sky?”

Art blinked into the sky, then turned to his friend. He wasn’t sure he understood, but he could appreciate a beautiful metaphor...and Paul was great with metaphors. 

Paul licked his lips, and his eyes crinkled with thought. “Being a teenager is hard enough. But what if being an adult in this world is just blinding light and noise? I think that sounds terribly lonely,” he said.

“Then I guess you have to find your own darkness,” Art said, trying to add to the line of thought. He was afraid that his comment fell short, but Paul seemed to understand.

“Don’t _you_ ever feel alone?” Paul asked, still staring skyward.

“No,” Art replied. He wanted to add “not when you’re around,” but he resisted the urge. 

Paul closed his eyes. “Of course you don’t,” he said bitterly. “I don’t know why I ever tried to explain. You could never understand.”

“Why would you say that?” Art shot back.

“Because you’re so popular, you’ll never have to worry about being alone,” Paul said with a healthy dose of self pity. “You’re like a star with all kinds of telescopes aimed at it.”

Art’s body stiffened with resentment. “What does being popular have to do with anything?” he nearly shouted.

“Everything!” Paul said, speaking emphatically. He sat up then and looked at Art accusingly. “Don’t you see? Every girl at Forest Hills is going to think you’re dreamy. Just like how every girl at Parsons thought you were dreamy. And how every girl at PS 164 thought you were, too.”

“Girls? Is that what this is about?” Art said, shocked his friend was acting so foolishly. “Whatever! There’s no fucking reason to be jealous! You’re just selling yourself short.” 

This comment, he immediately regretted. 

Paul grimaced. He growled softly before shooting back, “Very funny.”

Art really wished he hadn’t said anything about being short. “I didn’t mean…” he started, but Paul interrupted him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks a lot, Mr. Perfect.” 

“I’m no Mr. Perfect,” Art countered, getting angry again. Paul didn’t miss a beat.

“Right, someone should tell Lizzy that,” he said. 

Art sat up and angrily returned Paul’s glare. “Is it my fault that the girls like me?” he asked. 

Paul’s answer was to narrow his eyes and sneer dismissively, making Art even angrier. 

“God-dammit it, Paul!” Artie nearly shouted. “I don't get you! What is your problem?”

Paul’s face darkened and in a flash he rocked forward and stared Art down with those bottomless eyes. 

“You! You, Artie!” he shouted. “And all those girls that like you, it drives me crazy!”

Art’s frustration burst out of him, and he swiped at the ground, sending dust and rocks flying toward Paul. 

“I’m so fucking tired of you being jealous! Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, why don’t you try just once to get your own girl?” Art yelled. He knew the attention he got from girls would be a problem eventually, and figured this was the start of a long overdue fight. He didn’t expect what happened next. 

Paul jumped to his feet in an instant, his fists held tight at his side. Art could see that his temper had finally erupted.

“Artie!” Paul yelled. “Can’t you see? It’s not a _girl_ I want!”

And then it was quiet. Paul’s words hung in the air as both he and Art processed what he just said. Paul stood still as a statue as a look of horror transformed his face. He began to blink rapidly as he looked at Art with fearful, bulging eyes.

“Wha...what did you say?” Art asked softly. He tried to replay what Paul had said in his head, but he couldn’t. His head suddenly felt very foggy.

“Nothing,” Paul stammered. “I...it’s freezing up here. I’m going home.” 

It had gotten much cooler after the sun went down and suddenly they both felt it. Paul hastily turned to leave, but Art jumped to his feet and reached for Paul, grabbing him by the shoulder. Paul was effectively halted and tried to resist as Art whirled him back around.

Art looked his friend up and down. Paul was visibly anxious and breathing heavily as he tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of his grip. Understanding began to seep into Art’s mind as he realized what had been said. He locked eyes with Paul. Paul’s eyes pleaded with Art to let him go. To let _it_ go. He wasn’t going to.

“What do you mean it’s not a _girl_ you want?” Artie asked, finally able to recall what Paul had shouted at him. 

Paul swallowed hard and momentarily returned Art’s stare. “Artie,” Paul said forcefully. “Let me go.”

Paul struggled, but Art was easily able to keep a grip on his friend as thoughts churned through his head. He shook his head in bewilderment.

“All this talk about girls! But, if not a girl,” Art said, his voice starting to crack, “what _do_ you want?” 

“Fucking let me go!” Paul yelled desperately as he ignored Art’s question.

Art began to grasp the implications of what Paul had let slip, and there was no way he was letting him go until he knew for sure. He grabbed Paul’s other shoulder and forced him to face him directly.

“Paul, do you like boys?” Art asked, putting himself face-to-face with his captive.

Paul hesitated and squirmed, trying to escape, but of course it was useless. His silence was revealing. 

“Paul! Tell me! Do you like boys?”

Paul finally returned Art’s stare, and his voice said something completely different than his eyes.

“Of course not!” Paul shouted. “I’m not gay!”

At that, Art released his grip and Paul staggered backward. Paul blinked in surprise and took what he thought was one last glance at his friend before getting the hell out of there. He was about to run off into the night when Art quietly spoke up.

“Well… I am,” Art said. “I’m gay.”

Paul froze in place. After a long moment, he slowly turned back to Art.

“ _What?_ ” 

Art was suddenly afraid he would burst into tears. Now it was his face that showed fear and horror. He hadn’t planned on making this confession tonight...or ever, really. And he’d especially never planned to tell Paul. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his best friend. Under Paul’s shocked stare, Art felt helplessly awkward and his body moved into an awkward stance to match. His arms twisted around each other as he finally dared to lift his eyes to his friend. He could see a thousand thoughts flashing through those eyes, but couldn’t read a single one.

“You can’t joke about that, Artie,” Paul said breathlessly. “It’s not right.” 

“I...I’m not joking,” Art said, composing himself. “I like boys.” He swallowed, then quickly added, “And I like girls, too. But...I prefer boys.” 

Art pressed his lips together and stared at the ground, waiting for Paul to judge and condemn him on the spot. Paul could only stammer slightly, and it took a while for his mouth to form words. 

“You’re gay?” Paul said in disbelief. Art nodded. He had never felt more uncomfortable. 

“You’re telling me that Arthur Ira Garfunkel, my best friend in the whole world, the person standing right in front of me right now...is _gay_?” Paul asked again. His jaw was slack and he seemed incapable of bringing it back to where it belonged.

Art sheepishly cracked, “Why don’t you say that a little louder, Paul? I don’t think everyone in Flushing heard you.”

After an agonizing moment, Paul finally shook his head and said, “Artie, I...I didn’t know.”

Art licked his lips and laughed nervously. “For a second there, I got excited,” he said. He fought back a tear. “I thought you were trying to tell me you liked me. See, I...I like you. That way.”

At this, Paul thawed. He blinked and shook his head. “Artie, no. No, it’s OK,” he said, trying to reassure his friend. Art took this as confirmation that he’d been wrong, and his face fell and his body curled downward in shape. 

Paul saw this and quickly spoke up again, this time clearly. 

“Artie, you did it. You fucking did it. You outshone the neon,” he said, tears overflowing from his eyes. “That’s exactly what I was trying to say, Artie. I do like you. I like you the same way. In fact, I… I think I even _love_ you.”

Art slowly stood straight again as his shame fell away. The two boys stood together, both paralyzed and rendered speechless by shock. By then, it was completely dark and both pairs of eyes glistened in the moonlight as tears spilled down their cheeks. 

Suddenly, Art let out a hissing sigh of relief and without hesitation, swiftly approached Paul. He took his friend’s face in his hands and excitedly attacked Paul’s lips with his own. Paul pulled away, gasping in protest.

“Artie!” he whispered loudly. “What are you doing? I can’t...I mean, people can see us!”

Art ignored Paul and recaptured his lips with his own. Paul’s wildest fantasies were coming true, and he wanted so badly to give in to the bliss. But out of the corner of his eye, Paul could see headlights approaching, and common sense took over. He struggled to pull away. 

“Artie!” he protested, as he laughed nervously against Art’s lips.

The headlights were dangerously close. Art saw them too, but couldn’t stop himself. Paul gathered his strength and gave Art a shove--a playful shove, but also forceful enough to let Art know he meant it. Art stumbled backwards, his legs wobbly and his balance off. He took a step backwards in an attempt to steady himself, but his heel caught a hidden mound of stone in the grass and he fell backwards. 

Paul grabbed Art’s hand in an attempt to catch him, but the larger boy had too much momentum, and they both went careening down the slope. Paul looked up as he tumbled downward and could see the headlights sliding by, illuminating nothing but the moon. The slope was relatively steep and with a thud, Art landed at the bottom. He looked up just in time to see Paul rolling toward him and caught him in a perfect embrace. And so there they were, bruised and out of breath at the bottom of the hill. They laid in the tall grass by the lake, still stunned by the fall and what the other had just confessed. 

"What... the fuck just happened?” Paul asked between short breaths.

Art grinned as he looked up at his friend. “I think you just told me you love me.”

Paul’s eyes were big as saucers. He looked at Art, then looked around at the bottom of the hill before an involuntary shiver shook his body. Acting on instinct, Art immediately pulled him close and wrapped his arms tight around him.

“Are you scared or cold?” Art asked in the gentlest possible voice.

With a sniff, Paul tried to relax in Art’s arms. “Both,” he replied.

“Paul,” Art whispered in Paul’s ear. “I love you too.” 

Before Paul could even process what his friend had said, Art cupped his chin and looked into his eyes. They shared a breathless look, then Art placed his lips to Paul’s and they kissed. They kissed a real kiss, with hearts beating loud against each other. Paul could feel Art’s hand running through his hair. They rolled in the grass, and Paul put his arms around Art’s torso in an iron-tight lock. Paul never ever wanted to let him go again.

When they finally pulled back for air, Art nuzzled his forehead against Paul’s and smiled.

“Still cold?” he asked.

“I… I’m on fire,” Paul said, taking a deep breath.

Art smiled with satisfaction at that. “Still scared?” he then asked.

Paul’s brow wrinkled with worry. “Fucking terrified,” he said emphatically.

“What scares you?

“It’s against the law, Artie. What if we get caught? What if our parents find out?”

Art’s face fell. “We’re going to have to be careful, Paul,” he said with concern. “We’ll have to be alert and very conscious of everything we do. But if we use our common sense, we’ll survive.”

Paul nodded knowingly. “No more attacking me with your lips on top of hills in the middle of the park,” he teased.

Art shrugged that away, then stroked Paul’s cheek with his delicate fingers.

“How long have you known, Paul?” Art asked. Paul was taken by how much love shone through his friend’s eyes.

“I... I,” Paul stammered. “Do you remember in fourth grade when the buses ran late and we had an assembly? And you sang Nat King Cole in front of everyone?”

Art blushed, but he smiled and nodded.

“I didn’t even know you yet, and I didn’t know what was happening to me,” Paul said before laughing to himself. “Do you have any idea how confusing that was for a ten-year-old boy? Butterflies in my stomach, my heart pounding--it was all too much, you know? All these weird feelings… for a boy?”

Art laughed at that. He could relate, in a way.

“I’ve always known I liked boys,” he said. “In fact, I was convinced that I was somehow born with my heart on the opposite side. And I thought I’d be found out for sure when I went in for my lung infection and they did x-rays. I thought maybe somehow they’d be able to see… you know, my secret. The doctor said everything about my heart looked normal and I was so fucking relieved!”

They both laughed at that. 

“When I first met you,” Art said with the sweetest smile on his face, “And you said we were always meant to be friends, I immediately--and I mean immediately--wondered what it would be like to be _more_ than friends with you.”

Paul seemed surprised at that. “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked.

Art was bemused. “Why didn’t _you_ say something?”

“I always figured I could tell you I loved you,” Paul said. His face twisted into an embarrassed grin. “But asking you to love _me_ , now that would take a lot of nerve.”

Then he added, “And I didn’t think I could ever compete with all those girls!” 

Art snorted lightly in laughter. “It’s funny you thought that when I was doing everything I could to keep the girls at arm’s length and spend all my time with you,” he responded.

Paul blushed deeper than Art had ever seen him blush before. He also looked happier than Art had ever seen him. He thought about Paul’s metaphor, and he realized that up until now, he had never really seen him at all. At that moment, something compelled him to look up at the sky. Hanging right above them was a bright, dazzling blue star. 

“Look at that, Paul,” Art said. Paul looked skyward, and he was just as surprised as Art was. 

“That’s gotta be an airplane,” he said. But they both watched it, and it never moved. It just hung in the sky, as if it was there to celebrate the birth of something new.

“That’s weird,” Art said after a minute or two.

“You know what else is weird?” Paul said, biting his lip. “The rock thing, it worked.” 

“What? What worked?”

“My wish. It came true.”

All of the breath escaped from Art’s lungs. “We had the same wish after all?”

“Yeah. You wished for this, right?” Paul asked. He reached up to Art’s face and kissed his best friend once more. Paul was surprised that not only could he feel Art’s heart beat noticeably faster when he made his move, but he could also feel that Art was aroused. He realized he was too, and it dawned on him that things would be very different from now on.

Just then a high-pitched voice cut through the night.

“Paul! Paaaaa-ulll!!!” rang over the top of the hill. Both their eyes shot open and they scrambled away from each other as fast as they could. 

“Eddie’s looking for me. Oh my God, Mom must be furious,” Paul said in a panic.

“You’ve got to go,” Art said. “I’ll stay down here until you’re gone.” Paul nodded, then scrambled to his feet and looked at Art once more before climbing back up the slope. 

“Artie, what if I wake up tomorrow and this was all just a dream?” he asked, appearing pale in the moonlight.

“It’s one hell of a dream,” Art responded. “But I’m pretty sure this is real.”

“Meet you here tomorrow? Maybe we can make another wish,” Paul said with a hopeful smile as he started to step away. They could hear Eddie was getting close now.

“Sure,” Art said, his heart full. “Maybe we can make more dreams come true.”

“Hey...you never know,” Paul said. With one last smile at Art, he disappeared up into the darkness.

Required listening:

 _Look at That_ by Paul Simon <https://youtu.be/0aWpnx2kESY>

_Dazzling Blue_ by Paul Simon <https://youtu.be/Z6M2wtcimBE>

_How The Heart Approaches What It Yearns_ by Paul Simon <https://youtu.be/I54Z9xaBH5Q>


End file.
